


little bird

by searwrites (sears)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Criminal AU, M/M, dark hearts breed dark minds, dont mind me im just imagining how well they could potentially fit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:59:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when he stands it is monolithic, the way the room shifts, all at attention. he is a commanding force, the smoke between mirrors - that one, elusive thing no one is allowed to grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	little bird

he’s a boy when they first meet. nothing but skin and bones, waif-like and full of nothing but eager curiosity. pulled in from the streets he’s no better than the rats that infest the gutters, but no one here has to know that, and no one ever will.

everything is warmth, lush, things armin’s forgotten how to feel. the walls are draped in soft fabric, and the floors dark and grained beneath the weight of all the soles that pass over them. smith’s tie is blacker than night, a categorical graph mapping all the things armin’s ever wanted to know, the secrets we keep beneath the cages of our ribs.

"you’re new," he says, his voice a rumble. he turns towards his lackey, the tall one with hair in his eyes. "fix him a room."

when he stands it is monolithic, the way the room shifts, all at attention. he is a commanding force, the smoke between mirrors - that one, elusive thing no one is allowed to grasp.

with a flick of his hands he commands everyone to leave - but then two fingers up, a halt. he keeps armin rooted to the ground, paces around him once, twice. “all of these men are my secret to keep,” he says. “you will be too.”

.

he’s a boy and he thinks he’s seen god. god wears a white shirt framed by silk lapels, god balances a cut cuban blend between two fingers, smoke coiling up to obscure his face, as if the atmos decides who is worthy of being in his presence.

the hard ridges of smith’s throat bob when he swallows from his crystal glass, and armin stands perched like a swallow, quiet and unnoticed. the tall one makes him smile, only when he thinks no one is looking, his face softening. the lines around his eyes paint stories armin wishes he was worthy of hearing.

smith must be fond of birds. his eyes flick to the corner of the room, catch armin’s eyes through the haze, and he tips his head.  _"good work, my boy"_ , he’d said earlier. all armin had done was listen, a quiet work of art, a thing you glance at once, walk past and then ignore. armin’s face burns hot at the memory, imagining him saying it here, liquid down the back of his neck.  _"mine"_.

.

he’s a boy and he’s in love with tired eyes and powerful hands, in love with the one thing he should be afraid of.

.

"you’ve been hurt," smith says, thumb hooked at the delicate v of armin’s chin, tilting. "who did this to you?"

armin licks his lip, tastes copper and ash, the twinge of metal at the place where the skin is split and swollen. smith’s forefinger swipes beneath it, catching blood. armin’s breath quivers, the exhalations of a dying machine, something so good it kills you.

"it was my own fault. i was reckless."

if following a lead is reckless. hiding in shadows like homegrown spies, pushing past unspoken boundaries. smith has never asked him to do more than observe, all within the bounds of his own turf, within the grip of what he knows he can keep safe.

"why?"

armin gazes upward, the blue of his eyes wide, pools of water shallow and completely transparent. he must know, he thinks. everyone else does.

"he was plotting to attack you," armin whispers, angrily. he would have killed the man if he thought he could.

smith laughs, a soft rumble of sound.

"you’re the best secret i’ve ever had," he says, his hand falling, stepping away. "and i’d like to keep you. please allow me to do that much."

.

he’s no longer a boy, he’s decided. old enough to be a man by whose standards but his own. there are boys younger than him now, all smith’s secrets, little birds he lets flutter as extensions of his ears.

but armin- armin is his favorite.

"why do i feel like i should pray before i touch you?"

there are hands on his shoulders, strong and warm. pushing back fabric from skin like peeling layers of armor. no one gets to see smith this bare but him, no one.

"you know better than i do that you haven’t once said a word to god," armin says, bravely grinning, smith’s nose pressed to the hollows of his throat.

"my boy, sometimes you make me believe there is one."

smith’s hands trail down, armin gasps. “ _erwin_.”

this room is theirs, his. armin is his biggest secret, one he’s grown terrified of losing. all of the other boys before him have become spies, alley cats, quiet things that have learned to wield the weapons they’ve been given.

but not armin. armin is his favorite bird, kept in the safety of a cage.

his scent is intoxicating. warm musk and whisky, the lingering spice after a shave, armin being the only one he’d ever allow that close to his throat with a knife. when smith kisses him it feels like breathing new air, that first sip of warm tea that spills down your throat, hot and consuming. smith fits his hands around armin’s neck, strokes thumbs over a rabbit-quick pulse.

he’s not a boy, but he will be erwin’s, always.


End file.
